Space Wars

Why do married people have to live together?  I mean, who started that?  I get sharing a house, I suppose, but a ROOM?!  It's too much.

I used to think that the hubs and I just needed more space.  If we had a bigger house, we could spread out more and fight less about what to do with each inch of wall space, what angle each picture frame should be at, and where I am or am not allowed to place a clock. 

Then I realized...it's not the house.

We are both very affected by our environments.  We agree that knick knacks are the devil, and antiques make us itchy.  That's where the similarities end.  Agree on a paint swatch?  Never.  Pick curtains out together?  Please, God, no.

This is what the hubs wants the house to look like:

I could be exaggerating, but I'm not entirely sure.  He doesn't like anything on the walls, floor, or taking up space.  This eliminates decorations, furniture, and pretty much all signs of life, sooooo....

 

 

This is what I want the house to look like:

Despite his accusations, I am neither tacky nor driven to cover the walls with nail holes.  I might get tired of those white walls, though....

 

 

It doesn't really matter WHAT we want, though, because this is what the house actually looks like:

Ok, it's not THAT bad...but that's what it feels like sometimes.

 

 

So really, it's only ever pointless (for now) to ever argue about what WE want the house to look like.  The kids took over.  All of the stuff that I begged to hang on the walls is gone and there are pictures of them hanging up now.  Everything that was on our living room bookshelves is in boxes in the attic - it's full of toys now.  (THEIR bookshelf was already full of THEIR books, duh.)  Our coffee table drawers have puzzles in them now...I don't even remember what I kept in those.  Our DVDs are in the attic and have been replaced with Disney movies and Baby Einstein.  My scrapbook gear got packed up and my craft drawers are full of Hello Kitty coloring books, safety scissors and scented magic markers. 

 

The joke was on us. 

 

One day, however, there won't be Barbie shoes to step on in the hallway, Legos sticking out from under my refrigerator, doll clothes in the laundry hamper, or crayons melted on the heating vents.  And I will miss those things.  I will look around at all of my "grown up" stuff that is now safe from being destroyed, used as weapons, or causing safety hazards... such as anything glass, scented candles, anything with batteries or moving parts, decorative items that cost more than $5.00... and I will sigh wistfully.  I will wish there was a sticky spot on my entertainment cabinet to wipe away, puzzle pieces in the floor to pick up, or a hula hoop to trip over by the front door. 

 

I suppose I shall find comfort in still having the hubs around to argue with.  We can revive the traditions of going behind each other and moving things on a shelf an inch to the left, throwing away ugly rugs when the other one isn't home, and lamenting over the drawer handles being a stainless vs. brushed nickel finish to our hearts content.

 

♥M

 

Survivor: The Sick Mom + Birthday Party Episode

 

I was just plain arrogant when I claimed to NOT be stressed out about the upcoming birthday party, earlier this week. (Spring Party Planning Madness) 

In  making that claim, I did what I do best - I spit in the face of Murphy's Law, shook my fist at fate, and dared life to throw me it's best curve ball.

Which is why, in my opinion, I was stricken with a stomach bug Thursday night.  I spent the night in the bathroom floor, trying to remember why similar situations hadn't seemed nearly as traumatic in college after a good frat party.  (Probably because I had been to a good frat party...and didn't have to work in the morning...and throw a party for 20 little kids the day after that.)

The next morning, the hubs made valiant efforts at being a nurse.  He was shocked (SHOCKED, I tell you) to learn of my illness, and couldn't imagine how he had missed out on all of the action.  He brought me water and an English muffin.  The 4-year-old drank the water and the 2-year-old ate the English muffin.  While our 2-year-old jumped up and down on my stomach shouting, "Mom. Mom. MOM. MOOOOOM!" there were offers made of people staying home and taking care of me. I informed my family that I loved them very much, but that if they loved me - they would leave. 

It was quiet.  I slept all day.  My party of dutiful nurses returned home that evening, bringing with them gifts of Gatorade, mac-n-cheese....and fish sticks.  (I just.........fish sticks?!)  I said thank you, drank the Gatorade, made myself a bagel, and returned to the couch to continue dying slowly.

I spent a good 15 minutes being jumped on, took one good headbutt to the nose from the youngest, told the hubs no, I wasn't quite up to changing poop diapers yet, and squashed a half-dozen temper-tantrums over the kids not being able to drink after me because all of a sudden, Gatorade was the only thing they had ever wanted to drink, ever, in their whole life, and I was a total "meanie-butt" for not allowing them to partake of it.  I announced that I was going to take a bath.  I will not lie - I just wanted to hide in the bathroom.

My hiding spot was safe for 2 minutes and 16 seconds.  Then the door opened, and my two lovely daughters came in to check on me...each dragging one of their little folding chairs behind them.  They set up their little chairs and sat there eating pretzels.  I closed my eyes and pretended to be very boring, so they would consider relocating.  I gave up on the bath 10 minutes later.  By then, there was a handful of pretzels, a blue crayon, and one of Daire's socks floating in the tub with me.  There had been an assassination attempt on my cell phone.  They had "helped" me wash my hair.  Daire had tried to get in the tub with me - with her clothes on.  By the time they went to bed, I went too.  The alarm had rung, my "sick day" was over and I needed to put my game face on for the next day. 

I felt fine this morning - my "bug" was behind me, and I was ready to throw a party for my babies.  I still wasn't freaking out because I have AMAZING people in my life who had set up and decorated everything for me.  Thank you, baby Jesus! 

We arrived at our church (a.k.a the party site) and the bounce house was being delivered.  It was time to cue a mini-panic attack.  It was raining, so the bounce house was being set up indoors.  Scratch that - the ceiling was ONE FOOT too short, so the bounce house was NOT going to be set up indoors.  That's ok.  We will come up with a Plan B.  No?  Ok, Plan C...Plan D...Plan E?!  I started feeling sick again.

We settled on a suitable location for the bounce house outdoors (the portico turned out to be perfect...whew!)  Disaster averted.  Ok, now we're late to pick up the pizza.  No big deal, I called ahead it will be ready.  It was not ready.  I called yesterday.  The hubs reported the following conversation:

Hubs:  I'm here to pick up 16 pizzas.
Pizza Guy:  *shouting over his shoulder, to another employee* HEY - that order WAS for today!
Hubs:  Soooo...they're not ready.
Pizza Guy:  Not really...you were supposed to be here at 11:30...
Hubs:  Soooo....you had an EXTRA 30 minutes....
Pizza Guy: Oh...well, yeah.
Hubs:  It's ok, how long do I have to wait?
Pizza Guy: 10 minutes.
Hubs:  ....you're going to make 16 pizzas in 10 minutes?
Pizza Guy: Uhhhhh....

An hour later, the hubs showed up with pizza.  He was alarmed about our country's future in the hands of today's youth.  I was glad I had stopped and picked up the chips and dip.

The rest of the day was a blur of happy chaos and memory making.  The girls were happy with their party and I was happy to watch them be happy.  I didn't get a lot of pictures, but such is the story when you're in the moment. 

Every year, I learn a little more about throwing the "perfect" birthday party.  Little tips and tricks on everything from a cheaper or easier way to do something, a better way to organize things, or "the" best way to set it all up.  This year, I decided that we will just leave town next year.  We are "eloping" for their birthdays.

I reserve the right to recall the genius of this same plan for any and all holidays.

♥M

6 Things You Didn't Expect To Miss Doing Alone

Have you ever watched a movie about someone stranded on a deserted island and thought, "Mmmm...that sounds nice."  If so, then you probably have kids.  You love them every second with every fiber of yourself, but that long-gone memory of personal space...well, it can make you wistful at times.  Somehow, these days, EVERYTHING manages to turn into a group project...

6 Things You Didn't Expect To Miss Doing Alone:

1. Any and all acts of basic hygiene  This covers bathing, showering, going to the bathroom, applying deodorant, blow drying your hair, putting on makeup....if it happens in the bathroom, then it is now a spectator sport...in the sense that the spectators get really involved and want to participate.  If you've ever applied mascara with one hand and used the other hand (and sometimes a foot) to stop a kid from eating your lip gloss, unwrapping all of your tampons, and squirting toothpaste in the toilet at the same time....you can probably relate.

2. Cleaning  It almost seems pointless to even do it sometimes, and when you do clean you almost need a Valium by the time you're done.  You sweep the floor and they kick your pile of dirt.  You vacuum and they grind cookies into the rug.  You fold things and they immediately unfold them.  You clean the mirrors and they wipe boogers on them.  It's an Olympic sport and it isn't for the short tempered.  We play a fun game at my house where I warp-speed unload the dishwasher while catching things in midair because my littlest helper is tossing them to the floor at the same time. (I used to just put the baby gate up, but she's what you'd call a "climber.")  The real name of the cleaning game is "distraction," and the best players spend an equal amount of time creating distractions as they do cleaning. 

3. Talking on the phone  Gone are the days where I could just pick the phone up and call someone.  I now have to ask myself three questions before attempting to make a phone call.  One - Is it truly necessary (i.e. would a text suffice)?  Two - Is it time sensitive (i.e. can it wait until bedtime)?  And finally, three - is it someone who will think less of me after hearing me threaten physical violence upon my children so that I can hear what they are saying?

4. Doing anything that involves paper and/or a writing utensil  Writing a grocery list?  Paying a bill?  Doing paperwork for your job?  Reading something?  Opening the mail?  WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!  And don't be stupid and offer them a coloring book and crayon as some crap substitute for whatever is in YOUR hands. 

5. Eating YOUR food  As a parent, you practically become a dumpster diver at meals.  You end up eating their leftovers...after they eat YOUR food.  (Whatever you put on your plate is obviously way better than what you put on theirs, so just give it up.)  Not that you have time to eat until you're cleaning up anyway, because you spent the whole meal wiping up spills, retrieving dropped utensils, and striking bargains for "how many more bites."  If you get brave enough to attempt snacking, be prepared for an attack.  I have actually used a pair of scissors to cut open a chip bag before so they wouldn't come running when they heard the cellophane wrapper...and James has been known to hide in the laundry room when he wants to eat a Swiss cake roll in peace.

6. Sleeping in YOUR bed  I have met a handful of parents that claim to have never allowed their children into their beds.  These people either practice black magick or are lying.  If my kid is screaming at 2:30am and the only way to get them back to sleep is in my bed, then bring it.  Unfortunately, this can create a chain reaction of bed crashing until either my husband or myself end up in a kid's bed or on the couch.  Are we huge suckers?  Yes... but it's a small price to pay for being the hero of nightmares.  Or so I tell myself.

♥M